Bright Colors and Pointy Objects
by definatleynotafelineorcephalod
Summary: A collection of drabbles and oneshots taking place in the Inheritence Universe. #9: Murtagh's Law- anything that can go wrong, will go wrong... Murtagh and Thorn, Post Inheritance.
1. Lost

_This does not belong to me, nor do I want it to. I don't want the hate mail. _

_A/N: Right, so introductions are in order. This is going to be a collection of unrelated drabbles and oneshots happening withing the Inheritence verse. Anything super long, or anything that spans over one chapter will be posted elsewhere. Updates will be irregular at best. That is all._

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><p>The baby is stillborn.<p>

The baby is stillborn, and Angela remains silent. Roran knows why.

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><p>"What did you do?"<p>

His voice is surprisingly steady, given the situation.

"What makes you think I did anything?"

"Your a woman of your word. You said that you would get even one day, and now you have. So what did you do?"

She chuckles, "Your wife is quite ignorant, Stronghammer. Gullible too. I only gave her a few tips on how to make the pregnancy easier, really. Friendly advice from an old neighbor." She smiles, but the expression isn't a mirthful. "She never expected any ulterior motive. Maybe if you had been honest with your wife, this might not have happened."

"I didn't kill your son."

Her expression grows twisted, "No, you did a bit more than that. I _lost_ a bit more than that. My husband shouldn't have died that night, but he did. Because you were to much of a _coward-"_

Roran is racing, pale faced, out of the tent before she can finish.

Birgit starts to pack, her breathing harsh and her eyes like chips of ice.

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><p>"<em>Katrina!"<em>

The anguished cry of the man who has lost everything rings out in the Varden's encampment.

A woman laughs brokenly on the floor as she clutches at her son's old tunic, half of her belongings stored in saddlebags and the other half laying in the dirt.

She is sobbing by the time the guards come to take her away.


	2. Set In Stone

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

A/N: So here's the first real story in the collection. It also happens to be the longest thing I've published. I hope that I didn't botch the job too badly, because I really love Angela's character. Unfortunately, I find her Cooky Pragmatist personality very difficult to write, so I would love some feedback on it. As for Selena, she doesn't get a character, which allows me to do whatever I want with her.

Updates will be fairly uncommon, from this point on. I've got a lot on my plate with school**, **and other such responsibilities.

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><p><em>"Only one woman agreed to it. Selena was her name. Ah, she regretted it too. Her fortune was bleak and painful. I don't think she believed it- not at first."<em>

On the eleventh hour, of the fifteenth day, in the tenth month, during the seventy first year of the reign of King Galbatorix I, a beautiful young woman entered the shop of an eccentric herbalist.

This woman, who's name was Selena(though she would never tell you that herself- giving out your name to strangers when you were a spy, assassin, and married to the second most feared man in the land simply was not _done), _had recently completed a reconnaissance mission in the coastal city of Narda, and had stopped in Tierm on the way back home to restock on supplies. She didn't often enter the city, but the times when she did visit were always quite pleasurable. This had been the place where she had first seen the ocean... and this was the city in which her husband had been born raised.

Selena had been walking around the merchants section when she had caught sight of a rather odd looking apothecary shop. The walls were painted in homely shades of sunshine yellow and forest green, and the sign hanging above the doorway cheerfully pronounced the establishment to be one 'Angela's Herbal Emporium'. Selena frowned. She had heard mention of this Angela woman while walking around the city. It was said that she was the best herbalist in the area, brewed love potions that _really worked_(Not that anyone had solid evidence of this)_,_ and told people's fortunes. She was also known to be quite strange- almost unhinged- and many people have reported seeing her engage in a conversation with her cat. Selena supposed that all truly brilliant people were entitled to a little(sometimes more than a little) battyness. After all, Galbatorix didn't get to where he was by being _sane._ Besides, there were far worse outlets for madness than talking to felines.

Entering the shop, bell jingling as she opened the door, Selena was greeted by a plethora of scents. Herbs, spices, incense, aromatic mushrooms, floaty pickled things in jars- this place was a dog's wonderland. It made Selena slightly nauseous. She felt a slight pang as she took in all of the plants-common and rare alike- and thought of her old friends back in Carvahall. Gertrude would have loved it here, the woman had been in an apprenticeship with the village healer when Selena had left, and she supposed that the girl would have been fully trained by now. She pursed her lips- there was no use in wondering about her old life.

Turning her attention back to her surroundings, Selena noticed that the shop was devoid of all human life. This was very peculiar- but, seeing as _everything _in the shop was peculiar, she was hardly surprised. Is seemed as if the Angela had left quite recently, because the purple ink in the leather-bound journal that had been carelessly left open on the front desk was still wet. It occurred to her that this may have been why it had been left open in the first place. Still, though. There are better places to leave personal writings than on the front desk, where anybody could read them. She made to turn away from the book when a particular phrase caught her eye:

"_Then again, the sixth seventh toes could very well be a mistake of nature. Humans and Elves both have the seemingly standard number of five, and yet we are taller than dwarves. It would be logical to say that with height comes toes, but this is clearly false. Urgals are also in possession of seven, and yet they are the tallest race. This leads me to believe that having more toes than fingers is a Native Alagaësian trait, however Dragons and Werecats both have five claws on their hind legs, so that theory is nil. There was probably a magical accident involving the two species that caused the other intelligent life forms in the land to grow four extra toes. No doubt it was the Werecats' idea."_

Selena decided that she didn't want to know.

_Well, that's not very polite. Not that I blame you of course. _I_ don't even want to know what's going on in that woman's head half the time. But honestly, if you didn't want to know, then you shouldn't have looked._

At the sound of the intruding voice, Selena slammed up her mental barriers. Making sure to keep them stable, the woman hesitantly probed the surrounding areas for the mind that had contacted her. _Who are you? Show yourself!_

_There's no need for that. And I'm sitting in the same room as you, if you must know. _

Selena narrowed her eyes. That was to obvious to be a lie, but she would have noticed another mind in the room. She sensed the owner of the shop upstairs, but surely Angela wouldn't have referred to herself as "that woman". The towns people _had _said she was strange, but somehow it didn't seem to fit. Besides, the voice was masculine, and had said that they were occupying the same room as her. The only other being in the main room of the shop was the red-eyed cat that had padded in a few minutes ago.

Selena blinked. Cats didn't have red eyes. In fact, the only races that _did_ have red eyes were Shades, red dragons, albino rodents, select elves, and... Werecats. She _had_ read books in Morzan's library confirming their existence, but why would an incredibly rare and magical creature hang around an eccentric herbalist?

_Actually, it's the other way around. She does provide interesting company, however. _

Selena started slightly, surprised at the interruption of her thoughts. She narrowed her eyes at the Werecat and regarded him warily.

_What is your name, Werecat?_

The feline yawned and blinked lethargically. _I go by many names. If your looking for my true name, then I'm afraid I can't give it to you. If your wondering what people call me, they generally _don't, _the main exception being Angela, as well as a few select elves. You may address me as Solembum. _

As Selena contemplated recent events, the door to the shop abruptly swung open, admitting a rather short, woman with curly brown hair. The newcomer strode to the desk, not even sparing Selena a glance, and set down her basket(which seemed to be filled with an assortment of mushrooms) next to the journal. Following the woman(who Selena took to be Angela) with his eyes, Solembum rose from his curled up position and stretched.

_Well, there goes any semblance of peace. Good luck. When you need a place to save one life, and ruin another, return to the nest and don't look back. _

Solembum exited the front room, leaving Selena to digest this last piece of advice.

"I see you've met Solembum."

Selena started. She had forgotten that the shop's owner had returned.

"The Werecat? Yes, I've had the pleasure of his acquaintance. Does he usually give people semi-cryptic advice? "

Angela blinked, "Not for some time, no. Actually, your the first person he's spoken to since we've moved here. It probably means that he thinks your interesting. I was quite surprised to enter the shop and find him out and about. Cats, you know. Not very social creatures."

"Indeed." Selena took a moment to observe the herbalist more closely. She had a round face, one that had laugh lines around the mouth and eyes, which were bright and lively. Her hands and fingers were calloused- and Selena could tell that they were not the product of a life of toil, but rather a testament of skill with a blade, or pole-arm- and there were traces of dirt under her fingernails. She had freckles. "You didn't seem very surprised when you walked in, though."

Angela grinned, "Maybe so, but I've lived long enough to see a great number of odd and unusual sights. It takes a bit more than Solembum deciding to be social to shock me."

Selena did not doubt this, despite the other woman looking no older than she herself. After all, Selena had also seen a great many odd and unusual sights. It was part of her job description.

Angela was tapping her chin pensively, "You know, I haven't told fortunes in a while. Well, I haven't told anybody's _actual_ fortune in a while. What do you say? If Solembum gave you advice, it means that he finds you interesting. People that he finds interesting usually end up having an important roll in what is to come, I think. Anyhow, it would be payment enough for me to know what small details the future allows us to view. Would you be interested?" She was giving Selena an oddly serious look. It completely contradicted every preconceived notion that the Black Hand had developed concerning the herbalist.

Selena sighed, she wasn't a particularly superstitious person, but she had lived around magic long enough to know when a person was legitimate or not. Angela was most definitely a witch_, _and anybody who would keep the company of a Werecat was bound to have some real talent._  
><em>

"I would."

Angela frowned slightly, "It's not a decision to be taken lightly. I'm not going to guarantee that your future will be pleasant, or that it will be specific. I _can_ however, tell you that what does appear will be accurate. This isn't one of my sham readings- I do those for the richer customers that frequent my shop, you see."

Selena inclined her head. She knew well enough, and she also knew that real fortunes were usually quite vague and often came around in indirect and unexpected ways. A long lifetime could mean anything. Long for an elf, long for a human, long for a dog. Very little was set in stone, and Selena had always been of the opinion that she was in charge of her own destiny. If she didn't like something, she could change it so it wouldn't happen in the expected way- twist the situation to her own benefit.

"I'm aware of the consequences, and I'm willing to take the risk." She put on her most disarming smile(something that Morzan had taught her to do). "I'm Selena, by the way." This woman was going to be reading her fortune- she might as well know her name as well. And even if she _was_ aware of the Black Hand's identity, it wasn't as if she would be able to do anything about it. Besides, Selena was hardly and uncommon name.

Angela nodded in response, "Good to know. Now, if you'll just give me a minute..." Picking up her mushroom basket, the herbalist disappeared into the back room, only to return a few minutes later with a small velvet pouch. "In this pouch are the knucklebones of a dragon-don't ask me where I obtained them." Dragon bones, hn? Well then, this woman was either older than she looked, or she had a very interesting family background. "Casting them will give me an idea of what you're future will hold." Angela looked up with a grin, "Ready?"

Selena's quirked her lips, "Of course."

"Right then. Manin! Wyrda! Hugin!" As she pronounced the magical words, Angela emptied the bones into her hand and cast them onto the desk, where they landed in a seemingly incomprehensible pile. A solemn look dawned on the herbalist's face, "Oh, dear."

Selena frowned, "What?"

Angela looked up at her briefly, and then returned her attention to the bones. "The fate predicted of you is not a pleasant one. Here", she pointed to a bone that had a birch tree etched on it, "The Birch represents a short life. Short, of course, is a relative term. Your death may happen in a week, or in a decade."

Selena kept her mouth shut. It was possible, she supposed, that she might meet failure in one of her missions. That one of her targets might get lucky, or that she herself could fall victim to an assassination. There was also the possibility of an incurable illness. Death was not a concern for Selena, mainly because it was not something she could control or prevent. No, what held her interest were the other secrets of the future that the bones would reveal.

Unfazed by the lack of response, Angela continued on. Pointing to a new bone she said, "Here are the Broken Chains, pointing to the Starving Wolf. You will have little control over your future, but you will also have the power to change that. If you do go down the latter path, however, you will be met with hardships. It will be your choice- a choice between freedom and sorrow, or happiness and ignorance." She looked up at Selena, "I can not tell which path you will ultimately end up following."

Selena considered this. She _was_ happy, and she didn't need to change! And was Angela implying that she didn't have any free will? That, she knew, was a falsity. Morzan allowed her to make all of her own decisions, she did what she did out of love and loyalty, not out of some twisted form of slavery. And what was all this about ignorance? She was ignorant before, in Carvahall. It was no longer so. Angela had resumed talking, however.

"The next bit concerns romance." Well _that_ certainly got her attention. "I see the symbols for the Sun and Moon together, with the Rose at the center. You will have two great loves in your lifetime, similar in many ways and yet as different as night and day. The two will not be able to co-exist, and neither will they be able to lead peaceful lives without the other present. It is a strange situation, and one that I have never seen come up before." Angela tilted her head slightly, and narrowed her eyes at the offending knucklebones, "I can't tell if one will ultimately prevail or not. I'm guessing the answer is no, though. Can you imagine the Sun without the Moon, or vice versa? Can you imagine them together, in the same sky? It does happen, but it never lasts long. This will not have a peaceful end. It's a pity, really. Two epic romances, doomed to tragedy."

By this point, Selena was fuming in her seat. _"Do you mean to imply"_, she said, gritting the word out with careful deliberation, "_that I would be unfaithful to my husband?" _

Angela shrugged, "Perhaps. I'm just reading what the bones tell me though, so really, you should blame _them_. Now, shall we move on?"

Selena quietly gaped as Angela continued to study the patterns in front of her. "Here is another one, slightly more cheerful than the others, I think, although it has less to do with you specifically, and more to do with your children." She was pointing at a bone with a depiction of a tree with many branches. Underneath it was one that contained a pair of crossed daggers.

Selena pursed her lips, "What is it?"

Angela looked up at her, eyes gleaming, "You will be a mother of legends. Your children will be surrounded by great battles, battles that they may even participate in." This was not surprising. Any child of Morzan would undoubtedly be great, after all. "However, and here's the catch, it is not made clear if they will be in the _same army._ The Crossed Daggers typical represent deadly conflict. It is entirely possible that they will end up killing each other. It's also possible that they do not share a father."

Selena narrowed her eyes, "So not only will I be unfaithful to my husband, but I will also _bear the child of another man? _And my children will end up hating each other, to boot?"

Angela had the decency to look abashed. "Well, it's possible, yes."

"You're insane."

"I've no doubt that many others share your sentiments. Would you like me to continue, or should we just cut the session short?"

"Oh, continue, by all means."

Angela sighed, and tapped a bone with a branching river, overlapping one with a hawthorn root. "An event is fast approaching- one that will bring you much pain, and you will be personally betrayed by someone close to your heart. And here..." the fortune teller paused, as if unsure weather she should continue. Then she shook her head and looked Selena squarely in the eyes. "Here are the Cracked Rings, and the Unraveled Rug. You will be responsible, weather you mean to or not, for tearing your family apart. There will be blood shed within the bonds, and though you may not spill any yourself, your actions will be the ones that caused it all. That, in itself, is unavoidable."

Selena was staring fixedly at a point just over the herbalist's shoulder. "Is that all?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "Then I shall take my leave." She stood up, but as she was about to exit the premise, Angela called out to her.

"If Solembum gave you advice, then I would heed it. It tends to be fairly accurate." She paused, "I'm sorry if all of that was hard to hear. But please, I would advise you against sharing what you heard today with anybody. Your fate was meant for your ears alone."

Selena scowled as she walked out the door and into the busy street.

_It isn't going to be my fate. I'll make sure of it._

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><p>So like it? Hate it? Did I end up completely butchering Angela's character? Why don't you notify me in a review! <em>...<em>please?


	3. Common People Look Like This

_Disclaimer: I am not CP, nor will I ever be him. He has certain body parts that I happen to lack._

_This is just a quick little drabble featuring an often overlooked character in the series._ _104 words._

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><p><em>"A crime preserved in a thousand centuries ceases to be a crime, and becomes a virtue. <em>

_This is the law of custom, and custom supersedes all other forms of law."_

_~Mark Twain  
><em>

_Drip._

There is blood on her hands. It runs in rivers onto her arms.

_Drip._

Her old mates body is splayed in front of her, splayed out beside the mangled corpse of the woman she was replaced by.

_Drip._

She is holding a red-stained knife.

_Drip._

She wonders if humans often find themselves in similar situations.

_Drop._

There is dew on her leaves. It runs in rivers down her branches.

_Drop._

Elves dance and sing all around her, celebrating life, love, and happiness.

_Drop._

She is holding a metal infused rock in her roots.

_Drop_.

She wonders if humans also worship their murderers.


	4. Arson

_Yes, it's an expansion of one of the Purple one-liners. It is the only one. Also, I may have cheapened out and made the rival elf an earlier version of Vanir. Only even more immature. _

_... It's his dad, okay? I admit it. I was to lazy to come up with my own racist elf. I couldn't even come up with a creative name. It's very sad. _

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><p>Morzan scowled at his opponent. Of all the places for Brom to get sick, he just <em>had <em>to pick the elven capital of Ellesmera. As a result, Morzan didn't have a sparring partner- and since that just wouldn't do, he got stuck with his current stick-up-his-ass replacement. On the up side, they were in a clearing far away from the city, which would lessen the embarrassment of his inevitable loss. As it was, Rivan(what kind of name is _Rivan, _anyway... then again, he really shouldn't talk) would be the only person able to mock him. Other than Kievka, of course, but hopefully he would be properly preoccupied with hunting alongside Saphira and the Purple Monstrosity(as he so eloquently dubbed Rivan's dragon). Sighing, he decided to return his attention to the match- Pretty Boy was talking...

"I can understand, of course, if you would rather just forfeit now. After all, the chances of you winning are remarkably low."

Morzan deepened his scowl... arrogant bastard. He, however, was never one to back down from a challenge, "Heh, it sounds to me like your _scared_. What, are you afraid of being bested by a human?"

Rivan just sneered, "As if. I was just trying to spare you the humiliation of losing, but if you insist..."

Morzan only barely blocked the sword in time. While the two blades were locked together, Morzan grinned and asked, "What's this? So worried about losing that you would resort to a surprise attack?". Rivan just smirked as he broke the parry and struck at an opening on his left side. Morzan thinned his lips as he dodged the blow... elves were notoriously fast, but maybe if he found a way to use that to his advantage... unfortunately, he didn't have enough brain power to spare thinking up ways to turn the tables, because Rivan and his damn _smirk _were taking up all of his concentration. He was _playing_ with him, the ass!

This new found knowledge only served to make Morzan fight harder, but the the effort was ultimately futile. Rivan was coming at him again, his sword little more than a violet blur, dealing out strikes that Morzan was barely able to block in time. The next thing he knew, Zar'roc was flying out of his hands and Morzan was lying on the ground with an amethyst blade centimeters away from his throat. _Dammit!_

_What?_, Kievka's rumbling voice rang through his mind.

_Elves are stupid._

_Hm... did he beat you? _His dragon sounded far to amused with the situation. Morzan mentally huffed, and decided not to deign that with a response. Instead, he turned his attention to the smirking elf standing over him.

"Looks like your dead... not that I'm surprised, being a human and all, but from your all talk I was expecting at least a _little _bit of a challenge. I see that I thought to soon."

Damn elves and their stupid superiority complex... "If you were human-"

"But I'm not, so the alternative isn't even worth considering. You know, it always amazes me how low dragons' standards can be."

Morzan scowled and got to his feet, brushing off the dirt on his cloths, "No kidding, seeing as how _you _got chosen."

Rivan- unsurprisingly- ignored him, instead drawling, "I guess I shouldn't be _too_ surprised, though. I mean, your dragon- Kievka, yes?- _is_ a bit of a runt. I suppose he just didn't want to feel... inadequate." And on that lovely note, Rivan turned on his heal and started to stroll out of the clearing, leaving a fuming Morzan behind him.

_He did _not _just go there..._

_Go where? _Morzan had almost forgotten his dragon was present, which was rather ironic considering the reason as to why he was so angry. He quickly relayed the events of the last few minutes.

_I see... try not to do anything to rash-_ but he had spoken- er, _thought_- to soon.

"Brisingr!" The scarlet fire bloomed from Morzan's outstretched fist, zooming towards Rivan. It missed. Instead of hitting the designated target, the fireball exploded on a nearby tree, sending sparks and licks of flame flying every which way. Unfortunately for all involved, it was the dry season, so the trees caught easily. Even more unfortunate was the fact that the nearest stream/body of water was at least a half mile away. Brilliant.

Rivan turned to stare at him in shock. Then he took in the scene; a burning clearing with Morzan in the middle of it all, fist outstretched and face flushed in anger. Rivan narrowed his eyes and ran out of the clearing, presumably to get outside help for putting out the fire. He didn't bother to wait for the red rider, who was still in mild shock over what what had just happened.

The daze didn't last long, however. As soon as Rivan disappeared through the trees, Morzan snapped back to reality.

_Hey Kievka..._

_What did you do? _Morzan winced slightly at the tone of resignation in his dragon's voice, and sent him a mental snapshot of the scene.

_...I'll be right there._

_Oh, shut up._

_What? I didn't say anything._

_Your nothing speaks volumes. _Morzan scowled as he heard Kievka's sniggers. _Just hurry up. _After hearing the hum of confirmation, Morzan turned his attention back to the fire, which had started to spread.

"Alright, let's see if I can put you _out._.." Frowning, Morzan contemplated how to do that. Maybe if he said _brisingr_ again, with the intent of putting the fire out, it'll get smaller. It was worth a shot, at any rate. "Brisingr!"

The fire increased in size. Crap.

Alright, so obviously that wasn't going to work. It wasn't likely, but it might be possible to get enough water out of the air... "Adurna!" No such luck. His only result was about a handful of liquid, which immediately fell to the ground to be soaked up by the dry soil. He was sure there would have been more than that, but perhaps the September air coupled with the forest fire had evaporated most of it. It was incredibly frustrating, especially since that last spell had drained a considerable amount of energy from him. Plus there was all this smoke, which he would have to do something about unless he wanted to pass out and suffer an utterly anti-climactic death. What to do, what to do... and why was the world tilting? He should probably fix that...

_Hey, do you think I could borrow some of your energy?_

_Why, what are you going to do with it?_

_Don't worry, it's just to keep me from passing out before you get here.  
><em>

_Ah. _Morzan smiled as he felt the extra energy flow through his body. That still didn't take care of the smoke problem though...

_Thanks Kiev!_

_Anything for my rider... _

Morzan decided that he should ignore the sarcastic tone, and focus on not dying. With a word of the Ancient Language, a miniature cyclone whirled into being, dissipating the smoke. The fire, which had now spread beyond his clearing, doubled in size. Morzan winced against the heat... they really didn't exaggerate when they called it "blistering". He felt like he was it an oven... a hot, dry, oven which baked cake. Birthday cake, with lots of candles that were just _begging _to be blown out...wait a minute.

_I thought wind was supposed to put fires out!_

_Guess where the human expression "don't fan the flames" comes from, idiot. Look, I'm almost there, so just don't do anything._

_...won't the wind you produce just serve to make the fire larger...?_

_Do you want me to get you out of there or not?_

_Point._

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><p>As it turns out, he didn't have long to wait. A few moments later, the sound of wing beats was audible over the crackling of the flames, and a large ruby dragon descended into the clearing. Kievka took the scene in and turned towards his rider. <em>I must say Morzan, you've really outdone yourself this time. <em>

Morzan grimaced, _Look, can we just get out of here before I die of suffocation and/or heatstroke?_

The vermillion dragon just rolled his eyes, _Remind me how I got stuck with such a melodramatic rider. _

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><p>Five minutes later, they were flying high above the scene, watching frantic elves put out the-rather impressive, if he did say so himself- forest fire. It was a glorious sight.<p>

_I'm going to get all the blame for this, aren't I?_

_I should think so, seeing as how it _was_ you who started it. Although it would be safe to assume that I, being bonded to you, will also receive a fair amount of the credit._

Morzan winced _Sorry..._ _Oromis is going to be so pissed at us._

_No, he will be angry with _you._ He, at least, knows better than to blame me for all the trouble you get us into._

_Hey, a large fraction of the stuff we do is your fault too, you know. _

_Ah, but who is the one that executes it? _

Morzan smirked, there was no denying that. _Still though, how much trouble you think we're going to be in? Do you think we'll be banned from Ellesmera? _He couldn't quite keep the eagerness out of his thoughts.

The dragon's voice grew contemplative. _Hm, it's quite possible. The elves are rather territorial about their trees. _

Morzan snorted- that was an understatement. After a few more minutes of quiet flying he said, _It could be worse, though. _

_Oh? Do tell._

_I could have burned down the Menoa Tree._

Kievka chuckled, _Not even _you _are that foolish, hatchling. _

Morzan smirked, _Can you imagine what it would be like if somebody _did_ though? They wouldn't even have to set it on fire, just rough it up a bit._

Kievka shot him a toothy grin from over his shoulder. _Yes,_ _they would have to be the worlds last hope in order to avoid the unspeakable wrath of the elven race. _

There was a long, contented, pause. Then:_ Hey, I just realized something._

Kievka sighed mentally, this didn't bode well. _What is it?  
><em>

_I think I left Zar'roc in the clearing... do you think we could go back for it?  
><em>

The answering roar of protest could be heard for miles.

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><p><em>Yay, humor! <em>

_Also, thank you guys for all of the lovely reviews. It's really the best reward._


	5. Please Take Note

_I'm actually quite fond of this one. No idea if anybody else is interested, though. **  
><strong>_

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><p><em><strong>Messages Posted On Teirm's Public Notice Board During the Month of April:<strong>_

**-Official Records Reported Missing(4/02)**

Somebody recently broke into the City Capital, and went through many of the official records concerning trade. We have reason to believe that the culprits were researching the shipment of Seither Oil.

If anybody is in possession of any information regarding this, please report it to your local authorities.

**-Public Service Announcement: Trade With Dras-Leona(4/04)**

_As many of you know, we shall be getting a trade party from the city of Dras-Leona in a few weeks. Considering what happened last time, we are all very surprised that they have agreed to stop at our city once again._

_In hopes of making the above a one-time occurrence, we wish to stress the importance of being polite and civil to our allies and partners. This means that under NO CIRCUMSTANCES is one permitted to discriminate against their religion, no matter how disturbing and creepy it actually is. Anybody caught baiting or antagonizing our guests will spend the next two months serving on Jeod's last-ditch merchant vessel, as it goes south to Kuasta. _

_Thank You,_

_Merc Terikson, Head Trade and Foreign Relations_

**-Wanted: Eragon Garrowsnephew(4/06)**

We're sure you've heard of the recent rumors of a new rider circling around. They're true. If anybody sees this man, please do not engage in combat, he is very dangerous. He is also known to be traveling with Brom Halcombson(yes, _that _Brom). If seen, report to the local authorities immediately.

Reward: One Earldom

**-Missing Person: Azyl Tiranasdaughter(4/08)**

Local costume artist and writer, Azyl Tiranasdaughter, has been reported missing as of the Seventeenth of March. Friends, colleagues, and clients alike have heard no sign of her in weeks, and while she has been known to go off on her own for a while, disappearances of this length are unheard of. Authorities are beginning to wonder if foul play was involved. If anybody has information on dear Azyl's location, please notify the local authorities.

**-Public Service Announcement: Health Inspections(4/10)**

_The city of Tierm is adopting a new system. From here on out, all establishments that serve food and drink, as well as all ins, shall be getting inspected for infestations, accidental poisoning, staff hygiene, and other related offenses. Any business that does not pass the inspection will be closed down._

_Thank You,_

_Erin Atkinson, Head of Health and Regulations_

**-City Guard Called In To Stop Robbery(4/12)**

The city guard was recently alerted of a robbery occurring in the southern section of the Artisan's District. The shop that was being burglarized was a Silversmiths on 43rd street, owned by Keroc Threefingers. The thief has since been apprehended, and all of the stolen wares have been returned to Threefingers, with the exception of a highly detailed goblet which was broken when the guards captured the criminal.

The culprit is sentenced to three months in jail, in addition to losing his right hand and paying for the goblet that he broke.

**-Local Sausage Maker Accused of Fraud(4/14)**

Recent Health Inspections have revealed the offenses of sausage maker "Boneless" Burke Nerukson. Apparently, when his shop was investigated, sacks upon sacks of oatmeal were discovered in his pantry. When asked why a sausage maker would need so many pounds of porridge, he was at a loss for words. As it turns out, the oatmeal was serving the purpose of sausage filling.

"His products aren't the real thing", says inspector Puchik Helevson. "Most of the filling is actually oatmeal, with ground meat and spices to create flavor. Every time you buy from this guy, your really getting your money's worth of oats soaked in meat-juice. And everyone buys from him, you know. He always has the best prices- and now we know why."

The shop was immediately shut down, and Nerukson is currently standing on trial for his crimes.

**-Public Service Announcement: Attention to All Press-Gangs(4/16)**

_If a man has proof of employment, you are not permitted to press him. If a man is ill, or elderly, or clearly not fit for sea, you are not permitted to press him. If a man is actually a woman, you are not allowed to press her. If a man is already serving on another ship, you are not allowed to steal him for your own. If a man is not of this city, you are not allowed to press him. In the interest of keeping our docks and streets safe, please follow the rules from now on. _

_Thank You,_

_Marek Avenson, Captain of the Guard _

_Fredrik Arcombson, Captain of the Teirm Port Guard_

**-Wanted: Angela the Herbalist(4/18) **

Local apothecary owner, Angela(last name unknown), has recently been revealed to have been involved with the terrorist organization, Varden. Unfortunately, she and her nephew have recently relocated their business, and are no longer residing in the city. If you do see them, however, please report to your local authorities.

Reward: 200 Crowns

**-Local Pirates Apprehended At Last(4/20)**

Pirates responsible for causing many merchants, including the once-renowned Jeod Longshanks, to go out of business have been apprehended at last. Captain of the TPG(Teirm Port Guard), Fredrik Arcombson, comments:

"Aye, we're really glad that these scoundrels have been turned in. Been giving us a large spot of trouble, lately. Put a lot of good men out of business."

The crew of the _Singing Widow_ is now held in custody until further notice. It widely assumed that they are to be hanged.

Arcombson would like us to stress that because the people responsible for Longshanks' bad luck have been caught, all theories of a government conspiracy are false. Jeod is not in league with the Varden, and the King would not set up an elaborate plot to make him bankrupt if he was. He would just send in one of the Black Hand, or order his public arrest. Since this has not happened, we can safely assume that Longshanks is a loyal but somewhat unlucky citizen of the Empire, and nothing more. Thank You.

**-Wanted: Ren Falinson(4/22)**

Wanted for the suspected kidnapping of his ex-fiancé, Azyl Tiranasdaughter. He was last seen leaving a tannery on the corner of Seaview Lane and 32nd Street. If you see this man, report him to the local authorities immediately.

**-Public Service Announcement: Concerning Vigilantes (4/24)**

_It has come to my attention that there are certain someones who are making it their business to put a stop to all of the local crime. There is no need for this. If you see someone being robbed, take note of the assailant's appearance and report him(or her) to the nearest local guard. Vigilantism is still considered illegal, and anybody caught taking the punishment of criminals into their own hands will be arrested and hanged. _

_Thank You,_

_Marek Avenson, Captain of the Guard_

**-Two Women Taken In For Antagonizing Dras-Leonian Traders(4/26)**

Despite the warning given by the Department of Trade and Regulations, two woman(claiming to be illiterate) still took it upon themselves to harass and insult our ...guests from Hell(grind), making a great many derogatory remarks about their religion and customs. So far this is nothing compared to what happened last year, but we would still encourage you all to learn from the examples these woman have created, and stay on your best behavior. The city does not need another visit from the Ra'zac, so please hold your applause until the traders have left the city. Thank You.

**-The Empire Needs YOU!(4/28)**

It's not too late to join the army! With the recent threats to our country, strapping young men are needed now, more than ever! Serving provides such benefits as:

-a monthly paycheck

-free food and water

-complimentary healing services

-security for your family

-leadership skills

-job experience

And so much more!

To volunteer, just go to the Local Recruiting Office and sign up! On May 23, you and your fellow recruits will make the journey to Gil'ead, to begin formal training, after which you will be assigned into units.

Join NOW, before you miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!

* * *

><p><em>Squido, out.<em>

_Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. _


	6. Monday's Child

_Hey, all. Here are seven oneshots based off of the old Nursery Rhyme. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

><p><em>Monday's Child is Fair of Face...<em>

Eragon stared at his reflection. He had seen the way his cousin had looked at him- astonishment, relief, fear, _disgust. _He had seen the emotions play across his face, the thoughts- _who is this stranger? where is my cousin? what happened to you?_

"_What have they done to you?"_

"_You look like an elf now. Did Islanzadí do that?"_

Roran, Arya, Murtagh, Nasuada- hell, even_ Sloan_(and hadn't that been terrifying, holding a man's will in your hands?). Their reactions were all the same. _Are you so ashamed of being human that you would renounce their ways, even physically? _

It was an unspoken question, but it was asked all the same. The Great Rider Eragon... no simple _farmboy _could ever have hoped to achieve so much. And therefor, he was no simple farmboy.

He was the son of the revered Rider Brom, and Morzan's tragic Black Hand. He was more than human and less than elf- something caught in-between. He was no longer Eragon Garrowsnephew, Son of None... he was _Eragon Shadeslayer, Hero of the Varden._

And Hero's were not allowed to relate to the common man.

He realized it more, every day. Interacting with the villagers of Carvahall, with the soldiers of the Varden... it was impossible to do it normally. He was no longer approachable, no longer the boy who you could scold, and exchange friendly banter with. He was the man who you held in reverence, who made you nervous, who you kept yourself guarded around because he was so different, so ethereal.

He was not their equal, and he knew this, and he missed the days when he had rounded ears and calloused fingers.

He shows none of this on his face. Where once he had worn his heart on his sleeve, now everything has been hidden by a mask of perfection.

He is, after all, a Hero. And Hero's were not allowed to be less than.

* * *

><p><em>Tuesday's Child is Full of Grace<em>...

Saphira is flying, free, Queen of the Skies and everything that they hold. She is swirling, looping, whirling past clouds and birds and leaving everything behind- anything and everything that might keep her on the ground.

She is surrounded by Blue. There is Blue sky and Blue ocean, and in the distance there are the shadows of the Blue mountains that her Rider lives in, but none of this Blue can even hold a candle to _her _Blue, her Sapphire scales and wings and eyes. The white caps on the water and the fluffy clouds overhead can not hope to compare to the ivory of her teeth and spikes.

She bares her teeth in a dragonish grin, the wind pulling her scaly lips back as she dives into the water.

Suddenly, everything is silent. There is no more wind in her ears, or cry of gulls, or splash of waves against water. There is only the quiet swish and swell, the suspension of time and sound and everything as water fills and overwhelms her senses-

-and then a crash as she comes up again, breaking the surface and creating waves that did little, save rock the small fishing boat that will probably never catch anything now due to the dragon's frolicking in the waves.

Saphira growls playfully as she does another loop, causing water to fly from her in iridescent drops that sprays the awed- and somewhat irritated- onlookers from the boat.

She laughs- or as close as a dragon can come to the sound- and shoots a small spurt of fire into the air. It dances and flicks gracefully for a moment, before it dissipates as if it had never even existed in the first place.

A gull shrieks, a dragon roars, and a man shouts gleefully as he holds up the fish that he- against all odds- managed to catch.

* * *

><p><em>Wednesday's Child is Full of Woe...<em>

Carsaib looked at his master in horror. He was... it was impossible. Haeg couldn't just __die. __He was a powerful sorcerer, he could control spirits. He didn't get taken down by a few...a few __desert traders. __It just didn't __happen. __ Perhaps an Imperial Magician, or a band or rouge Urgals, but a trader? Who just happened to get a lucky shot in with an arrow...?

And yet it had happened. The evidence was right here in front of him. His whole body felt numb, and he raised his head.

The Desert Men were still there. Their leader was laughing, and jeering down at him. At least, that's what he thought the man was doing. Carsaib could see him, but no sound came through. Everything was blocked by the loud rushing in his ears.

The leader bent down, searching Haeg's pockets. That... that was the last straw. The rushing in his ears grew louder, and Carsaib felt his lips moving- forming word, words that would summon the most powerful, malevolent, spirits that he knew of.

These were the spirits that Haeg told him to never, ever summon_. ___But Haeg's not here anymore, there's nothing holding you back, he would want you to do it, to avenge him... __

__He said to never summon spirits for revenge... he said that it only made them stronger...__

__That's the entire point, idiot. What use do you have for a weak spirit? __The voice was his own, but it had a needling, sinister quality to it.

__He said that it would make the caster more vulnerable.__

__And if he were still alive, he would advise you. But he isn't. These men killed him... are you going to let them get away with that? Like the men who killed the rest of your family?__

No. No he wasn't.

He continued to summon the spirits, he could feel them responding to the call, the power that coursed through him, filling him, overflowing... It was like watching a scene unfold from the sidelines. He was could see everything that happened- the men shouting in fear, the looks on their faces as they ran away, their screams of pain- but he was no longer in control of his own body. It was frightening, and exhilarating, and satisfying all at once.

The entire process only took a few minutes, but it felt like ages. When everything was over- the men were gone, all dead, blood staining the sands- he seemed to collapse on himself. As Carsaib drifted into the realms of innocuousness, his final thought was that he had suceeded. That he was victorious.

Durza got up from where he was lying. He looked around- there was nothing here but scattered supplies and sand and the bloody remains of men, including the body of a man who looked vaguely familiar, as if they had know each other in a different life. The Shade snorted. They probably _had._

Durza the Shade walked from the scene.

Carsaib the Human never stirred from his sleep.

* * *

><p><em>Thursday's Child Has Far to Go...<em>

Katrina was nine when her mother died.

It had been a hot and humid day in summer, because Mother only went into the forest on the extra hot days, in order escape from the heat which caused her to faint. That day had been particularly awful, she remembers, because Horst had shut down his forge, giving his sons the freedom to spend the day as they wished. She knows this because Baldor and Alberiech had decided to spend the day with her and a few of the other village children, playing knucklebones. They had been using her set, because she was the butcher's daughter and had access to things such as high quality gaming bones.

Yes, it was mid-August and she was playing in the down square, sweat making her dress plaster to her back uncomfortably, and causing her auburn hair stick to her forehead and the back of her neck. Dirt and grime were smeared on her hands and face, and her skirts was caked with dust. The stench of the tannery was made even worse by the sickly sweet smell of rotting fruit, and yesterday's festering garbage.

In the course of her relatively short life, Katrina had never been more content.

That is, until a wide eyed and red faced Elain came running up to their group. To the collective surprise of the children, it was neither Alberiech nor Baldor whom she approached. It is Katrina, and the girl started to feel the beginning of anxiety stirring in her stomach.

It was a well justified feeling, as she soon found out, staring down at the woman who used to be her mother, but was now little more than a sodden body with battered and cut skin, and a spine that couldn't seem to line up properly. She felt slightly detached from her body, as if all of this was happening to another person, and Gertrude wasn't _really _talking to her in tones that were supposed to he comforting, and her father wasn't _actually _hunched over with his face in his hands, and that this was not her mother, lying there with grey skin and closed eyes. It was so, so easy to pretend that this was all happening to someone else, somewhere else. So easy, but she couldn't because she _knew _that it was real and Mother had always told her to trust her senses and nothing else.

Weeks passed, and Katrina never tried to pretend. Neither did Father. Instead, he just worked all day in the shop or doing the household chores that Mother used to do. Katrina helped him as best she could, and it was during this time that she bean to realize that her father was not the same man that he had been before _it _happened. He was mostly the same with her- he payed attention to her, and was always nice and patient and tried to make her happy. But then when they weren't together, when he was working and she out in the back, playing with the chickens, she would here him snap at the customers. Sometimes, she heard him get into arguments with the other men in Carvahall for no reason at all, then that they had gone into the Spine to hunt.

Once, she asked him why he was being so mean to everyone. He just frowned and said that he didn't know what she was talking about, and wasn't she supposed to be washing the carrots? She didn't bring up the subject again until years later, when she was older, and wiser, and in love.

But now was not that time. Now she was just a little girl, with the all of the responsibilities of a grown woman.

* * *

><p><em>Friday's Child is Loving and Giving...<em>

Oromis was rarely driven to drink, and when he did, he never actually got _drunk. _

There was, he supposed, a first time for everything.

It only made sense, then, that there should also be a first time for having a pair former students become mass-murdering psychopaths ._.._hence the reason as to why he was sitting at a human bar, consuming copious amounts of alcohol. No, that wasn't quite right. He was drinking to mask the unrelenting feeling of _failure_ that had been plaguing him ever since he had found out- a feeling which had increased tenfold after the last battle.

Truth be told, it was a rather odd sight. Granted, seeing elves in human establishments was rather more common at that time than in later years, but it was far from what would be considered normal. Especially if the establishment in question was a dark, smokey bar that smelled like cabbage, and was filled with haggard barflies and busty old women who were wearing thick, caked on makeup that did little to enhance their appearance.

The tavern was the Drunken Dragon, the city was Petrovya. It was a beautiful day outside, one that seemed to be mocking the world's inhabitants with it's cheer. As if to say, "You are well aware that your misery and pain has absolutely no impact on the workings of the world, but let me just rub it in your face anyways." Or maybe that was only Oromis.

_You're being melodramatic. _

Oromis and failed to bite back a sharp reply._ I have just battled with my former students. Excuse me for not jumping in joy._

Glaedr growled softly. _They were my students as well, Oromis. Notice that I am not currently attempting to drown myself in cheap rum. _

_You are a dragon._

_And you are an elf. I believe that this is something that humans are prone to do._

Oromis scowled, _That is precisely the mindset that caused this whole mess. _

_And that is besides the point._

Oromis leaned back in his chair. _I wish there was a way to fix this. To make Morzan and... to make them come back. _

Glaedr growled softly _It will never happen. Not after the Banishing of the True Names. The dragon's mind is lost forever, and even if Morzan would have been willing to come back before, now it is out of the question. Not after what we have done to the partner of his heart and mind. If there was ever a hope of having them come back to the light, it was lost when those fools did their bit of magic. Even before it would have been impossible- Vreal would never consent to reinstate them into the Order after the atrocities they've committed._

_Ha. Try telling that to Brom_.The Golden Rider drained the last of his rum, and set the glass beside the four others just like it. _Is is horrible that I still care for them? Even after the atrocities that they've committed? Is it wrong that I can sympathize with Morzan, feel sorry for him about what happened to his dragon, even though he is responsible for the deaths of thousands?_

Glaedr hummed, _So that's what's been bothering you. No, it isn't bad. It would, I think, be worse if you felt nothing at all for them. I continue to care for them as well, despite what they have done. We have still trained them, raised them almost. Morzan may have become a horrible person, and his dragon a mindless shell, but that does not erase their good years- nor does it change the fact that Morzan, at least, is still a person, albeit a cruel one._

Oromis stood up shakily- for large glasses of undiluted rum could make even an elf unsteady on their feet- and walked out of the tavern, navigating his way through the other patrons. When he opened the door he was hit with the bright, merciless glow of the sun- a shock to his senses, after the cool dimness of the bar. _I feel as if I failed. As a Rider, as a Teacher, and as a Guardian. I feel like... if I had done something, known them better, payed more attention to them after they graduated, I could have prevented this. All of this._

Glaedr's voice sounded in his head, low and comforting. _Everyone blames themselves in instances such as these. It is not your fault, and it is not mine. In a way, it is not Morzan's, or Galbatorix's fault either. But it happened just the same. There is nothing we can do for them now. _The regret was clear in the dragon's voice.

Oromis didn't reply for a long time as he made his way to the city's gates, where Glaedr was waiting for him.

_We could give them another chance._

Glaedr hummed, unconvinced as he thought of the hatchlings. He couldn't see how it could work out, but if Oromis was so adamant about the idea... As unrealistic a it was, the dragon couldn't help but feel a bit of hope... hope that the Banishing of the Names could be reversed, that Morzan and his dragon would come back, that they would be forgiven, that Galbatorix and the remainder of his followers would be neutralized and that everything would turn out for the best.

After all, he loved them as well.

* * *

><p><em>Saturday's Child Works Hard for a Living...<em>

Arya gazed up at the stars. They were pretty tonight. Not beautiful, not by her standards, but nice enough.

Very little could compare to an Ellesmera sky- bright stars poking through a canopy of dark green leaves and thin, spindly branches.

She shifted, trying to get more comfortable on the thin blanket that was laying on the hard, desert ground. The sky here was all open. Open, and uncomfortable.

She almost- almost- regretted her decision to receive the Yawë and become the Ambassador between the Elves and the Varden. She had never been outside of the forest, and the difference between it and... well, anything else was shocking.

She missed it, she did. It was nerve wracking, going to Tronjhiem. She had never met a dwarf, she had never seen more than three humans together at a time.

She turned her head. Faolin was lying next to her. He caught her gaze and grinned softly.

"It's different, isn't it?"

She turned her head away from him and resumed her star gazing. "It is."

Silence descended between them once more, broken by Glenwing's soothing tenor. There were few birds here, but Arya supposed that he could be singing to the lizards.

"Do you think that I made the right decision, doing this?"

Faolin's expression was unreadable. "You are having second thoughts?"

_No._ "I'm just wondering."

He nodded, "I believe that you made the best decision for you. You are, forgive me, not a ruler."

Arya shook her head, "I agree with you. My mother..."

"Does not understand you." Faolin had propped himself up on his elbows and was gazing at her tenderly. "She does not understand that you are an active person by nature- you could not be content with ruling people from a stationary throne."

"No..."

Faolin laughed lightly and took her hand in his own. "Everything with turn out alright Arya. You will make it so."

Glenwing stopped singing and came to rest beside them, reclining on her other side.

"You're going to love Weldon.", he said.

Arya was skeptical. The leader of the Varden was known to be... slightly eccentric. Nothing compared to his aunt, of course. She had met Angela, and the witch was quite odd, even by human standards. "Am I?"

"Oh yes. He is even more of a busybody that you are, Svit-kona."

Arya just sighed as she looked at the stars- did they seem brighter, now?- and listened to the peals of laughter that surrounded her on both sides.

* * *

><p><em>But the Child Born of the Sabbath Day,<em>

_is Bonny and Blithe and Good and Gay_

Happy people had no place in war. Happy people were eventually turned sour, bitter, and lonely. If anybody would know about that, it would be her. It wasn't as if she had a lack of _insight. _

But that is besides the point. If happy people are turned sour, bitter, and lonely by war, then doesn't it stand to reason that people who were already sad, and bitter, and lonely should be turned happy by war?

_..._Elva suspected that there was something flawed in her logic. No matter. It applied to her, and she was the only person she knew of that had been born(or near enough, at any rate) sad, bitter, and lonely.

...Morzanson came close. But seeing as she didn't know him- had never met him, had never even been near him while conscious- he didn't count. He didn't sound very happy, though, so perhaps her theory only applied to her... it was a thought to consider, if she ever met him. Which she probably wouldn't.

The thing about toddlers- even creepy psychotic toddlers- is that their thoughts often get sidetracked. Hey, that guy's about to hammer his- oh ouch. That was quite painful. Probably should have warned him. Eh, whatever.

Once again, happiness for the lonely. She had seen many happy people succumb to sorrow. Eragon, Nasuada, that Roran guy and his wife, Orrin(though you wouldn't know it), shit, even Angela was getting to be depressing. Mainly because she was wrong about the whole Frog/Toad debate, but still. Horrors of War.

Apparently Hot Elf Chick(after being subjected to Eragon's thoughts, she had trouble referring to the elf as anything else) had been... frolicky, once. It was kind of hard to imagine. She had seen Arya's thoughts, and they weren't frolicky in the least.

Elva thought about all of these nice, happy- now somewhat subdued- people. They were suffering, silently, as if every life they took was a personal blow to their morality(blah blah blah self-righteous thoughts blah, how do you think it feels to be the one getting killed, yeah, no sympathy for you Mister One-Hundred Ninety-Eight kills in one sitting). It was annoying, and now she didn't even have to make them feel better about it.

It was the most glorious feeling in the entire world. Seriously, these people were _irritating. _Roran and Eragon especially. At least Nasuada was too stressed out to give a shit about anything other than the Varden's stats, and Arya just didn't care, period(or she did, but just couldn't be bothered to waste any energy thinking about it- which, now that she thought about it, was pretty much the same thing). Saphira was cool too. Dragons, you know. Vain, but they didn't tend to dwell on stuff that already happened. Well, stuff that _they _had done, anyways. Saphira could sure hold a grudge... Elva could respect that, though. Dragons were sweet(well, the vain part did get a little old from time to time).

But yeah. She was no longer forced to give false comfort to those who she disliked(or to those who she just didn't care about one way or another). Half the things she had said to people she didn't actually mean. It was just something she had to say, or... or nothing. She just had to do it- there were no options. To no longer be held to that, it was the best feeling in the world. She was, dare she even admit it, _happy. _For, like, the first time in her life. And it wasn't even another person's happiness that she was feeling, it was purely her own.

Okay, so she couldn't play with the other kids, but why would she want to do that anyways? They would just give her weird looks, and be really uncomfortable. The more polite ones might be able to try and hide it, but really. Nobody could hide their feelings from her- the best psychologist in Alagaesia.

Well, that wasn't true, strictly speaking. Angela could do it. It was annoying, but at the same time... it was kind of relieving, to know that she would never be able to know everything about everyone she ever met. Mostly annoying, though.

So yes. Playing with other children wasn't even on her list of priorities in the first place. She got them, but none of them got her, and the fact had ceased to irritate her long ago.

Nah, it was cool, really. She had better things to do. She was staying with Angela and Solembum, and right now she was cutting carrots for a stew. It was an utterly mundane task to have. Completely boring. Angela was writing something in her journal, the soft scratch of the quill blending in with chop of the knife, and Solembum's even breathing as he slept.

It was a fairly normal domestic sight, or it would have been, if the young girl didn't have a shiny star on her forehead, and the short woman didn't periodically mutter to herself about the properties of cauliflower, and the cat napping on the chair didn't have unusually tufty ears. And if the room they were staying in hadn't filled with a vast variety of herbs, and a rather impressive mushroom collection.

Other than that, though, it was just another sunny afternoon. A little girl spending time with her family(fahm...illl...eeeee. It rolled off of the tongue nicely), happy as can be.

A woman accidentally burned herself while cooking. Elva stayed exactly where she was.

Some called her selfish. Elva usually told those people to go die in a fire(or something equally painful that she had gone through).

Solembum yawned. Angela gave a huff, and closed her journal with a _snap. _Elva scraped the now-chopped carrots into the stew, and started adding spices. Soon, Angela would be pestering her with non sequiturs, and Solembum would be cutting into their conversation with dry, sarcastic remarks.

Elva smiled, slightly. Perhaps it wasn't the war that had made her happy, after all.

* * *

><p><em>And now for the real author's note =). <em>

So, you may have noticed that this took me a lot longer than the others. I have a reason(not a good reason, but a reason none the less)

This started out as an exercise to write Eragon and Saphira, who I have a bit of a bias against. I figured that if I was going to be writing for the IC, then I should at least be able to write for the main characters. Obviously, it expanded quite a bit. The same formula is still there though- all of the characters(with the exception of Elva, who I find awesome) are ones that irritate me on varying degrees. I wanted to write something that casted them in a somewhat-flattering light.

If your favorite character is in this, please don't be offended. I'm trying to expand my boarders, here.

So, I think I've droned on long enough. If you have any questions(like what I have against your fav character) then leave them in a review, or PM me. But reviews are nicer.

**Also:**

Thank you Justmeagain for the grammar tips. Edits have been made.

Thank you to all of my other reviewers as well. You guys deserve an award. So... keep it up!


	7. Gallons and Buckets and Pools, Oh my

_Inspired by CP's "buckets of Murtagh" comment during his interview on Shur'tugal with Mike Maculay._

_"It's no secret: Fans love Murtagh. Can we expect to see more of him in Book 4?"_

_"Lots more. Gallons of Murtagh. Buckets of Murtagh. Giant pools of Murtagh... I've said to much, haven't I?"_

_Yes. Yes you have.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Murtagh plodded down Fleet Street, weaving his way through the crowds. It was one of those rare days when the King had nothing for him to do, and there was no need for him to remain in the castle. Thorn was napping(<em>again, <em>but he supposed that re-growing your tail would cause a rather significant drain of energy... and he was just a baby dragon, after all), which gave him a rare, golden opportunity of privacy. Relatively speaking.

It wasn't often that he got to do this, he reflected as he stepped around a puddle of mud. There was always something going on- books to study, missions to embark on, people to kill, dragons to ride, nobles to talk to, names to change. But now, now there was only him, a nameless man walking through the slums of the Capital. It was rather liberating, just existing like this with no duty's to uphold. He could do anything, be anything like this.

He was suddenly aware of a heavenly smell- the alluring, homely scent of fresh baked pies. Meat pies- he wasn't sure what kind of meat, but it smelled delicious. Perhaps he would buy one...

The source of the smell was a small bakery on the other side of the road. It seemed to be very popular, as the line of customers traveled down the street. On the building's second story, there was a barber shop. How odd, he thought, that the businesses should occupy the same building. Usually the second floor was devoted to the owner's living quarters.

He fingered the ends of his hair. It was getting longer,reaching past his shoulders now. He scowled. Morzan had always worn his hair long... perhaps he _should_ get it cut. Besides, hadn't Eragon made a jab at his hair during their last battle? Rather ironic seeing as he was the one who couldn't grow a beard, but the insult still stood. Speaking of beards, his was getting a bit scruffy- he should really stay on top of that whole shaving thing. Using magic for mundane purposes was still a bit of a new concept to him, and his razor blades were getting dull.

Without a second thought, he crossed the street and climbed the stairs that led to the barber's. He could treat himself to a snack, afterwards.

* * *

><p>Galbatorix was having and awful day. Thorn had just woken up, shrieking about Murtagh dying and it had taken him and Shruikan as well as ten of the eldunari to subdue him. And that was only after the vast majority of the servants had been driven insane by the dragon's antics. He really needed to hire more resilient hands.<p>

But that was besides the point. The point was, Murtagh- his most valuable asset(besides the hundreds of bodiless dragons held in his secret treasury) was either dead, or in a coma so severe that even Thorn couldn't penetrate it. Or he was passed out from excess amounts of alcohol,, but the later didn't seem likely. It was still morning, and Murtagh wasn't a heavy enough drinker to even consider getting drunk at this hour.

So that left the first two options, neither of which were very appealing. It would mean that he didn't have an ultra-powerful right hand to do his bidding while he sat in the palace and watched. It would mean... making an _effort. _

Some things were just to horrible to consider.

"My Lord...?"

Galbatorix was roused from his musings by the voice of a young servant girl(one of the few who managed to survive Thorn's tantrum unscathed). She was holing a white box in her hands.

The king inwardly beamed. At last, something to redeem the day!

"Did my weekly delivery come?"

The girl nodded mutely. She wasn't, he noted, the one that usually brought him his pasties. Erica was probably receiving treatment...

"Well, don't just stand there, bring them over!" Honestly, if this is what was considered 'strong willed' in his serving staff...

After the box of pies was set down on his desk and the servant girl had fled the room, Galbatorix opened the box and inhaled the scent of freshly baked meat pie. Nellie always was the best cook- he didn't see why she insisted on staying on little old Fleet Street- not when she could be employed in the palace.

But this was not important now. No, the first matter of business was the locating of Murtagh's body. He took a bite out of the pie and reached for a scrying mirror.

"Draumr kopa" he said, his voice slightly distorted by the food that was in his mouth.

The sight that greeted him was nothing short of grotesque.

Oh, he found Murtagh, all right. Buckets of him, sitting on a counter top, with bloody pieces of flesh overflowing from them. Sitting next to the buckets was a large meat grinder... and a dozen small, piping hot meat pies.

* * *

><p><em>So, was I the only one who found what CP said... really disturbing? <em>

_And, if you haven't already figured it out, or have never heard of it... this was an X-over with _Sweeney Todd_. I own neither universe._

_Happy Halloween!_


	8. Magic Toy Missing

_100 words each. 1000 in all._

_Man, there's just a week to go until Inheritance comes out. I remember reading Eragon in third grade... has it seriously been that long? Wow._

* * *

><p>The night is infused by magic, and a grass boat is made.<p>

It was created for no purpose, but that's not to say that it has none.

It's a hot and quiet night in the plains and the fireflies are out and about, floating in the sky like imitations of stars. The elf and halfling are gazing up at the sky as if the darkness holds the answers to all of their troubles and questions. Quiet words are exchanged, and spirits emerge from the growing darkness.

Gilded lilies bloom, and the toy ship disappears, blending in with shadows and moonbeams.

* * *

><p>A blue furred elf rests on a stone. His companions have all entered a state of waking-dreams, yet he alone stays in full alertness.<p>

He can sense traces on another's magic in the air, and scans the area for the disturbance. He finds it in the form of a flying boat, crafted from grass and weeds. He knows the handiwork of a fellow elf, and a small smile tugs at his lips, revealing pointed teeth.

Now, who in the world could be responsible for this?

He has a feeling that the Rider and the Princess will not be at Varden.

* * *

><p>A young man and his fiance laugh together softy.<p>

Together at last, they celebrate in cool fields and gurgling streams.

She gasps and points to something in the distance.

He doesn't see it at first- the branches of far off trees are obscuring, and the night is dark. He finally catches sight, and shares his love's amazement.

They watch as the tiny grass boat gets diminishes as it sails away, guided by the currant of the wind.

They continue to watch until it disappears, and promise to never tell anyone of this night.

This memory will be theirs to keep.

* * *

><p>A young girl runs about wildly through fields of swaying poppies.<p>

Suddenly she jumps, swatting and grabbing at the air. A worn boat made of rushes dodges her grasp. The girl continues to chase after it, away from people and pain and responsibility. She runs and runs and can't catch it. The girl falters, tripping over her own feet. The boat pauses. She gets up again and brushes off her skirts.

The chase starts anew.

Dawn comes, and a short woman strides through the fields of trampled poppies. She scoops up the sleeping child and they return to their home.

* * *

><p>A woman slumbers heavily.<p>

Her cheek rests on the document she had been writing, black ink imprinting words on dark skin. Candle wax drips into her wiry hair. When she wakes up, it will be to an ache in her neck and a heaviness in her eyelids.

An object casts a shadow on the beige canvas of the tent, deceptive in its size. It holds the image of a sailing boat.

When the woman arises, feeling worse for wear, the only pieces evidence of the night's visitor are the scattered stems of grass and weeds found outside of the tent.

* * *

><p>The next evening a harsh looking woman weaves cloth by the fire. Though it causes pain to her bleeding fingers, it is the only way she hopes to survive the winter.<p>

She had children, once. But they were lost to her long ago- a combination of fates whims and her own folly.

It seems way of the world to inflict suffering on the innocent, and miracles are little more than stories to tell children.

She does not notice the small boat drift past her window. She does not know that she will see her sons in a matter of months.

* * *

><p>It's starting to fray at the edges, the grass from which it's made is starting to unravel and fall apart.<p>

It sails above a city- _the_ city- past houses and shops, until it comes to the center. It weaves its way through towers, pieces of dead grass falling to the ground, forming a trail.

It floats past a window containing a gaunt face.

The face belongs to a young man, whose luck has run thin. He watches the boat silently for a moment, and then blinks, turning away.

He has learned to stop believing the truths his mind tells him.

* * *

><p>A dwarf crosses his arms, chilled to the bone. Sleep does not find him, for his mind is filled with thoughts of loss and vengeance.<p>

Flashes of red erupt behind closed eyes, and shouts of pain ring in his ears. Memories of a battle past haunt him.

His wife comes and wraps her arms around his shoulders. They watch the moon rise above the mountains, and listen to the great wolves cry.

Miles above them, higher than even the distant summit of Tronjheim, a lonely boat makes its voyage across the sky.

The King is dead. Long live the King.

* * *

><p>It is night again. A campfire roars.<p>

Two women sit there, waiting for something. They have traveled a long way, and have almost reached their destination.

Sparks fly up into the sky, illuminating the darkness and all it holds. One spark catches on a piece of dry grass,

The sailboat bursts into flame and sails on, unheeded.

The women watch with interest for a while, as the airborne torch sailed out to the horizon, the flames leaving it scotched and black. They continue to watch forever, as they have always done.

They sit and watch as an era goes by.

* * *

><p>The desert night is cold enough to freeze.<p>

This does little to deter the man who shuffles along blindly, driven north by some unseen force. He is lost, and he is broken. Some men have lost all hope, and some have lost all will. He never had mush hope in the first place, and his will broke long ago, in dark caverns filled with hissed whispers and anguished screams.

But now he has no freedom and no reason, and the crisp air is suffocating him.

He shambles on unaware of his bleak surroundings.

It doesn't matter. That night was empty.

* * *

><p><em>Large amounts of sympathy for Sloan. Wonder what will happen to him...<em>

_The amount of reviews that I got for the last chapter were surprising, and really, really flattering. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy... which is a good thing if you don't want a really angsty collection. Filled with lots of Murtagh and Elva and Thorn and whatnot. And while Murtagh and Elva and Thorn are all very good characters, I have a feeling that you readers will want a bit of variety. So yes. Big e-hugs to all of you. _


	9. Murtagh's Law

_~Of course I don't own it.~  
><em>

_Just a short little thing here. Post-Inheritence Murtagh/Thorn crack that should not be taken seriously.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Murtagh stared morosely at the approaching army of Giant Bats-Things. Not even gone a month, and he and Thorn were already going to be fighting for their lives in a deadly aerial battle. Why abandon what you know?<p>

He tried to remember how they had gotten into this situation.

Oh, right. The cave. The beautiful, perfect, big-enough-for-a-dragon cave that they had come across a few hours ago.

Naturally, they had decided to explore it. After all, they had no home, and winter was fast approaching. And they were in a frozen wasteland, which made the prospect of winter that much more terrifying. The cave was ideal, and Murtagh had planned to make proper use of it.

Of course, certain precautions had to be taken first.

O...O

_Remind me, why do you want me to shoot a fireball in here?  
><em>

_We don't know if it's inhabited or not- something could be hiding in there, we need the light to see._

_Hm... It smells pretty bad, though. Like rotten eggs. You sure you want to live here?  
><em>

_The smell can be dealt with later. A chicken probably just died in it or something..._

_If you say so._

WHOOSH!

**KABOOM!**

"Argg!"

O...O

In his defense, he had no way of knowing that the cave was full of noxious, explosive gas.

_I don't know... I warned you about the smell._

_Well, maybe that warning would have had meaning if you had actually told me what 'rotten egg smell' meant!_

O...O

As it turned out, Murtagh's fears of pre-inhabitation weren't unfounded.

_Is that a... giant, fuzzy bat monster?_

_I believe they're called fledermaus. Shruikan told me about them once._

_Oh, good. I feel so much better now that I know what the giant bats are actually called._

_Fledermaus. And your sarcasm is lost on me. _

_Yeah, well-_

_We should probably go now. There seems to be more of them..._

_Right. _

O...O

Murtagh grimaced and drew Zar'roc as the first of the fledermaus drew near.

_Ready?_

_Not really, but when am I ever?_

_Yeah. Well, if we make if out of here alive, I promise to find a better spot to camp out._

_No more caves?_

_Most assuredly.  
><em>

O...O

Murtagh sighed contentedly as he dug into the tender bat flesh. It was surprisingly tasty, once salted.

Thorn rumbled beside him, and blew out a gust of smoke from his nostrils.

They hadn't counted on the fledermaus being able to _breath_ the toxic, highly flammable, cave gas(although it did make sense in hindsight)... but in the end, it had worked in their favor. All they had to do was put up a few protective wards so they didn't get burned, and _Whoosh! Boom! Zing! _

Problem solved.

After all...

Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Until the very end, when everything will inexplicably turn out quite well in your favor, despite the impossible odds working against you.

It was one of the laws of the universe.


End file.
